Brave
by Can'tStopImagining
Summary: It's survival instinct, that's what she's always told herself. It can't be that she's a coward because she's already survived so much. Patsy/Delia.


A/N: I don't have much to say about this except that I'm not sure where it came from or why I wrote it. Set in 4.08. Yes, writing that last paragraph made me want to carve my own heart out with a spoon.

* * *

As much as everything is exactly as she wanted it to be, once the evening blurs into the night, it becomes awkward. Somewhere, in the back of Patsy's mind, she's known this moment was looming, but she's been hiding from it. 'Shy' isn't a word she would naturally use to describe herself (in fact, pretty much anyone who knows her would probably laugh at the association), but she feels overwhelmingly shy now. It's the effect Delia has had on her from the start. Delia, who is sure of herself, and always knows what she's doing, and always knows all the right things to say to make her hot and flustered. Patsy doesn't have that working in her favour. She gets in a tizz just attempting to flirt, can feel her cheeks flush red at the prospect.

She begins to gather up their leftover foods; the plates, the glasses, and so on. Delia watches her with amusement which turns into something else, and catches her wrist, stopping her from completing the task.

"What are you doing that for?" she asks, and there's a teasing tone in her voice which still has the ability to make Patsy's heart leap, even now.

"Clearing our things away. It's no way to start a home, leaving it in a frightful mess..."

Delia tugs the glass out of Patsy's grip easily, and sets it aside, pulling her towards her. She may be small, but she is every bit the strong one in their relationship, and Patsy crumbles in comparison, allowing herself to be led.

When Delia moves in to kiss her, it takes every inch of willpower for Patsy not to glance around, out of habit. She wants to double check the lock on the door, ensure the curtains are closed. It's survival instinct, that's what she's always told herself. It can't be that she's a coward because she's already survived so much.

Still, Delia kisses her. Delia kisses her and though she can hear her heart thumping away noisily in her chest, she melds against her, allows herself to sink into her touch and kiss her back like there's nobody else in the world – possibly because, at this moment, there _is_ nobody else. It isn't their first kiss, but it's their bravest. Or it feels it, even if it is behind closed doors, with pulled curtains, firmly away from prying eyes or nosy neighbours or anything else.

"I'll enjoy doing that," Delia says, nodding, a smile creeping across her features, "yes, I'll enjoy it every morning and every night, and for hours in between. I don't think I'll ever tire of it."

"Same," Patsy whispers, tracing the corners of her mouth with her fingers. She still can't quite believe it's real. That their plan has worked out. That they have found a way to live not as ghosts but entirely together, in the most real sense of the word. It still doesn't quite feel like it could possibly be true.

When Delia makes to pull her to her feet though, that dread creeps in again. She can tell from the wicked smile on Delia's face that her mind is exactly where Patsy's is, and, once again, she is far more sure of herself. Patsy falters, allowing herself to stand, but hesitating to move.

"Pats?"

"Are you sure we oughtn't get started on clearing up..." she flounders, bites her lip, can still feel her heart racing in her chest.

"We have plenty of time for all that. I want to go to bed. With you. In our bed. Together."

It feels all the more real now it's been said aloud, and that makes it even more frightening. Patsy stands in the middle of the room, Delia in the doorway, and she feels stupid for being so afraid. She had known this time was coming. She had assisted Delia in pushing the two single beds together, had seen how pleased Delia looked with herself. It was a memory she had folded away, saved for later, much like the ones she kept in a box under her bed, though this one not physical. She knew she would still remember it, with clarity, for just as long. And for a moment she had been able to pretend like she was brave, despite the hesitant smile, and the way her forehead had creased, eyebrows furrowed, because Delia looked so happy. And it was what she wanted. She's just so dreadfully afraid of it all, even now.

Delia doesn't push. She stands in the door way, and she waits, and eventually Patsy takes a deep breath, moving closer to her. Delia catches her hand, squeezes it tight.

The bed's made, though the rest of the room needs some work. White sheets cover cabinets and closets, and they haven't unpacked any of their belongings. Patsy realises, with a start, that this includes their pyjamas. In fact, she's fairly certain they are included in the vast list of things she's left at Nonnatus.

When she turns to voice her objections, she's met by Delia slipping out of her dress, and almost turns straight back around. She feels her cheeks burn, can't help but feel uncomfortable even though she knows, at least to some extent, this is what Delia had planned. She shouldn't feel awkward. This is the point in being able to live together, to be together, away from everybody else. This house is their safe haven. The place for them to finally have what they would have if they were like anybody else, instead of two women.

Once the initial shock is over and done with, she relaxes. As much as she can, anyway. Delia tugs a sheet off a mirror with a wide crack down the centre of it, and begins to unpin her hair. Patsy watches as it tumbles out of its neat, prim hairstyle, falling down her back in soft waves that she longs to tangle her fingers in. Her eyes take in the parts of Delia she's only ever caught glimpses of, and she hopes that the heat in her cheeks will calm down once Delia turns back around. She's seen women in their underwear before, of course – less, too. It's different. She's pulled the zip of Delia's uniform up for her, with trembling, sweaty fingers before, but she's always made a point of looking away even though she knows it's just another thing to be teased about. It isn't because she's a prude, she tells herself. It's about being cautious, and not longing for things she can't have.

"You're allowed to look, you know," Delia says, softly, and Patsy feels even more embarrassed for being caught out.

Delia moves to her, taking Patsy's hands again, stilling them. She presses kisses to the backs of her knuckles, and then places their joined hands over her chest, above her breast, covering her heart. It's pounding just as fast as Patsy's.

"See?" she whispers, "I'm frightened too."

She moves to cup Patsy's jaw, fleetingly, rubs her thumb across her cheek, then, slowly, and keeping eye contact, she begins to unbutton Patsy's shirt.

Patsy watches Delia's fingers nimbly make their way down her shirt buttons, watches Delia's eyes slowly drinking her in as she pulls the fabric away, leaves kisses all the way along her path. Patsy is tense. Her mind runs a mile a minute, thinking of scenario after scenario of how this is all going to go to pot. The curtains are tightly drawn, and they're away from prying eyes, but she still can't fight the feeling that someone might appear out of nowhere, and she might suddenly lose everything.

Delia's thumb brushes over an old scar, white and puckered, and almost healed, and Patsy flinches. She has more, across her back and shoulders, serving as memories of a time long ago, and a completely different person that she once was. They aren't that visible, but they're still there. Delia gazes at it, and then back up at Patsy, but doesn't say anything.

She leads her to the bed, and Patsy follows, fighting the dry feeling in her throat and all the thoughts in the back of her head that are still sending off alarm bells. This is safe, she tells herself, hesitating before she draws back the blankets and slips into the bed. Already, this is more than she's ever allowed herself. Delia moves closer to her, draws her in, and Patsy lets out a nervous laugh when they both move at the same time and almost bump heads.

"If you don't want to-" Delia says, sobering almost immediately. She strokes Patsy's cheek bone, searches her eyes.

"No, I want to."

As one last precaution, Delia turns out the lamp beside the bed, casting the room in almost darkness.

Patsy relaxes. Delia strokes the side of her head and then, slowly, in small, gentle movements, continues downwards. Patsy can still make her eyes out in the dark, and stares into them. She trusts Delia. She's always has. She might get skittish when she takes her hand whilst they're in front of other people, or sits too closely at dinner, where she's _sure_ one of the nuns is going to see something is untoward, but she trusts her completely. It's never been Delia that is the problem.

When Delia's fingers brush over her abdomen, her stomach does a tiny somersault, and she almost pulls away. She doesn't, but it's enough for Delia to notice.

"We can stop, any time," she whispers, her breath warm against Patsy's ear, and Patsy shakes her head, unable to voice what she wants to say, but silently begging her to continue.

The last year cumulates in gentle, careful touches and soft gasps, and a fire that rages through Patsy's body, setting every nerve end alight in its path. She's scared that her short finger nails are going to leave red marks in Delia's pale, beautiful skin, she's clinging so tightly to her, but soon enough, she's losing focus, her mind unable to concentrate on anything but Delia's touch, and Delia's kisses, and the soft noises Delia's making in the dark. She longs to be even closer, longs to surround herself in nothing but Delia, and to escape the rest of the world for some time, to stay here, in this moment, forever. Because a part of her still can't quite believe that this _is_ her forever. That they've reached their happy ending now, and she needn't be frightened any longer. Delia rocks against her, presses kisses into her hairline, and she can't concentrate any longer, can't fight the stars that are gathering behind her eyelids. She doesn't want to look away, but her eyes have slipped closed. In the complete darkness, she can hear Delia's breath, constant and in time with her own, if less laboured. She can hear her mumbling words, but they're lost on her as all her senses concentrate on the same thing, and can't spare any energy on anything else.

When it's over, she feels ridiculous for ever dreading it. She lies beneath the blankets, unable to quite catch her breath, and bathed in sweat, and Delia is propped up opposite her, the most wickedly delighted smile on her lips.

"I'll enjoy doing that, too," she says, brushing Patsy's hair out of her eyes, and Patsy immediately makes to kiss that awful smile off her face.

They fall asleep pressed together and tangled in the blankets, and though it's for the first time, Patsy feels as though she can't remember a time before it. She listens to Delia's steady heartbeat, pounding softly against her bare back, and though she knows the struggle will never truly be over – that she and Delia are never going to be able to have what everybody else has – for at least a moment, it doesn't matter. In the morning, they'll get dressed together, have breakfast together, and set off their separate ways, and in the evening, they'll come together again. And that will be their lives from now on. And that's all that matters.


End file.
